


Thigh Highs

by redphlox



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, SoMa - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 06:18:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6183979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redphlox/pseuds/redphlox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Maka receives a seemingly flirtatious ‘wanna netflix and chill?’ text from Soul and decides to spice up her wardrobe. He would love to take lingerie off of her, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thigh Highs

_hey maka wanna netflix and chill tonite?_

Squinting, she tilts her phone from side to side in an attempt to rule out a glare that could be to blame for misreading the text message, but the words don’t change. Cat charms dangle against her fingers as she glances at the sender’s name: Soul Evans. Part of her wants to nitpick at his spelling, but the primal part of her that’s been melting at the thought of feeling his roguish grin against her flesh, dimple and all, advocates for her to accept the seemingly flirtatious invitation.

It's about time he got the hint.

Now all she needs is to come up with a witty response that’s the right balance between ‘ _Take your clothes off I’ll be there asap’_ and the ever nonchalant _‘I think I’m free.’_

Glancing down at her rumpled sweat pants complete with an oversized, coffee-stained shirt, another worry erupts in the flurry of concerns that run rampant through her mind - she needs to shop for enticing clothing.

The seduction can't be complete without a sexy outfit.

Before Maka can press her thumb against the reply button, an inquisitive Tsugumi leans over, whispering, “Are you okay?”

“I’M FINE!” she squeaks, clutching the phone to her chest to preserve her privacy. A cacophonic shriek of her chair legs scraping against the library’s tiled floor lures the attention of fellow study-goers, a few glaring over the tops of their books. One is audacious enough to noisily shush her, but Maka choses to ignore the bespeckled loser, instead collecting herself with a therapeutic exhale.

“I'm fine,” she assures, hoping her smile paints her as an incorruptible, dedicated tutor who isn’t planning the seduction of her best friend.

Tsugumi may be clueless sometimes, but she isn’t fooled at all. Canting her head, she asks, “Your face is red. Is there an emergency?”

“No, no, everything is okay! I just got a weird message, that’s all.”

But she's fidgety and can't focus on the formulas she's supposed to be explaining. Basic math skills evade her when unbridled, dirty fantasies play out every time she blinks. Pervertedness is a recessive gene that’s indefinitely turned on in her DNA when it comes to Soul. She’s sinfully weak for plotting how she’s going to tempt him into making the first move.

Soul's not the type to use a few suave lines to get her on her back. If anything, he's more of a tongue-tied dork glazed in a bright red blush at the slightest hint of affection. So she knows she'll have to take the lead, but how is she going to do that without showing up at his apartment with nothing but her naked body and a trench coat?

It's a hilarious image that inspires many ideas.

“Maka! I didn't understand that last step to solve for the standard deviation--”

Education is of the utmost importance, yes, but Maka's endurance for restraining herself depletes ten minutes later. She's on her feet and blindly throwing her books into her backpack, apologizing to an understanding Tsugumi, whose nodding and accepting the torrent of obvious lies Maka is spewing. The possibility of Maka driving five hours home to take care of her sick papa while also flying out to vacation with her mama in Egypt during the middle of midterm week is nonexist, but the Japanese exchange student doesn't question any of it.

“We'll still meet the day after tomorrow,” Maka promises, forcing the zipper shut. If she had arranged the books neatly she wouldn't be struggling, but she can barely see straight.

Is she thirsty? Yes. She’s parched and she needs help, and only Soul can provide relief.

“Bye, Maka!” Tsugumi’s voice is a confused shout behind her as she zooms out of the double doors. Maka vows to make it up to her later somehow, after a few makeout sessions with Soul that will surely have her head spinning.

Leaping over someone who dropped their books, Maka wonders what finally compelled Soul into making the first move.

They clicked the first night of their freshman year. Or more like, she noticed him sulking in the corner during the RA hosted and monitored dorm party, headed over to gently coax him towards the crowd of dancers, and they’ve been inseparable ever since.

Since then, plenty of her weekends have been spent snuggled in his twin-sized bed, Soul complaining about her highlighted textbooks taking up too much space and her gel pens jabbing him to the point of leaving bruises. But with his arms circled around her as she types up ten-paged essays, she knows he doesn’t mind, and counting the seconds between his inhales and exhales as he nods off is relaxing.

She's tested his comfort zone boundaries only to learn that he has none when she's the one cupping his cheeks to get him to smile, or taming his bed hair. He’d earned her trust by not taking every opportunity to peek up her skirt, instead offering her a ride on his motorcycle when she had woken up late for a final. None of these small gestures of kindness came attached to any conditions - he’d opened up to her readily, as if he trusted her from the start, and while it took her a while to cry in front of him about her parent’s divorce, she wholeheartedly believes she’s found her perfect match.

Except they’re floating in a weird limbo where she can’t decide if they’re friends or destined to be something more.

Sometimes he stares too long and massages her shoulders too tenderly when she a homework assignments away from a mental breakdown, but that doesn’t automatically mean he’s harboring a secret crush on her. At least, that’s how she explains the forehead pecks and good night text messages he gifts her, always concealed in good-natured snark.

But this text… this one she can’t ignore. It’s practically a marriage proposal. What other connotations can ‘Netflix and Chill’ carry? They’re mistaken for a couple all the time because they act like they’ve been dating for years. Soul’s not very wordy anyway. This must have been the only way he could express himself.

It’s okay. Maka’s not a hopeless romantic, though she has to make sure their first time is at least special.

It should be perfect, unforgettable.

She needs _lingerie_.

X

Flat chested girls like Maka are probably a lingerie store salesperson's best customers. Their ability to sense a woman desperate to highlight the allure of their bodies is both admirable and shame worthy. As soon as Maka rushes into the store, backpack thumping with each of her steps, the anxious-looking clerk scuddles out from behind the counter to greet her.

“Hi, do you need help looking for something?”

Although the girl has soft black eyes and a kind smile, Maka's first instinct is to be on guard. She crosses her arms over her chest as if to hide what she lacks. “I need some, uh, nice lingerie. For a date.”

Although Maka's pride screams out like it's being set on fire - what she is going to do with her underwear is none of anyone's business _why did she say that_? - the only response she receives is a head nod. This must be a common occurrence.

All of the mannequins have bigger busts than she does. Bitterly, she follows the girl to the push up bra section. Intricate patterns and different levels of sheerness overwhelm Maka. She's in over her head. Sure, she has toyed with the daydream of kissing Soul while her body craves being even more intimate, but finally being able to act out on her urges gives her a serious case of goosebumps.

Inexplicable guilt threatens to paralyze her as she scans the articles, choosing red and black see-through undies that come with a matching babydoll nightgown that can barely be called clothing. She feels like she's plotting an ambush on poor Soul, who chokes up every time she takes the initiative and holds his hand on the walk back to his apartment after a healthy meal of fries and milkshakes. But she's tired of waiting. Even if they're tackier than a bad porn movie (she's always been the curious sort), the lingerie pieces should provide a confidence boost when they're getting down to business, so it’s worth the sacrifice.

She swallows her pride and grabs a few bustiers and corsets on the way to the fitting room. Help emphasizing her breasts isn't something she's going to turn down. The fun part will be taking _off_ these garments, she hopes.

But nothing fits _right_. Especially around the bust. Frustrated tears spring at the corners of her eyes as she glares into the mirror - why is nothing tailored to fit women of all sizes? The feminist in her rages for a full five minutes before she calms herself.

None of this matters, she tells herself. She just wants _Soul_.

Texting her best friend Liz for advice would result in a massive, lifelong debt to a risque lingerie store, a permanently red face, and a battered ego. She’s not about to ask the shop girl for feedback. And anyway, what if he’s not into red, lacy panties? Garters aren’t really her thing, but what if Soul secretly likes them?

After what seems like an eternity, she decides this what ‘if game’ is ridiculous.

“I’m not buying this,” she says aloud, crumpling the material in her fist. Good thing she's the only customer in the entire store - receiving a response from a fellow shopper would be mortifying. “This isn’t my style.”

Determined, she shuffles out of the dressing room to hand the attendant the extra padded bras and teddies with a quiet ‘these didn’t work out,’ and marches to the the sock and hosiery area. Short skirts have been a staple in her wardrobe since the tender age of thirteen, and she’s not going to alter her style for some guy, even if he does have a lopsided smile that serves as her kryptonite. Though the wind chill brings down the temperature into the negatives, she will not sacrifice her aesthetic - she is Maka Albarn, and she will be damned before she surrenders to any obstacle hindering her right to have everything she wants (including Soul.)

Thigh highs are the solution. She settles for a black cotton pair with lacey bows on the trim. The newest edition to her wardrobe warrants a new skirt, one that reveals a teasing sliver of skin. Deciding to wear them out of the store is her best decision of that day. As she sashays out of the double doors, her boots thumping powerfully, the icy wind slaps her in the face but it should be okay because Soul will warm her up later tonight.

Time to conquer.

X

She's not as brave as she thinks.

Four hours later, her homework time exchanged for a frenzied rummage through her closet for a cute top, Maka makes it all the way to Soul's apartment, raises her knuckles to knock, and runs back to the safety of her dorm. Frustrated with herself, she’s glad her roommate isn’t home to see her pounding her head on the door. Her thighs scream in protest, skin numb from exposure to the cold - this is definitely the opposite of what she expected.

All she wants are a few kisses and gentle touching. For what seems like an ungodly amount of time, she's been sending Soul signals. Calling him cute resulted in adorable coughs to cover up a gasp. Assuring him that she's fond of his dimple earns her a goofy grin and silence. No matter how many times she’s tried to give him a hint, the most important thing now is that they’re getting together.

But gosh, Soul is so _dense_.

It doesn't help that she's relationship stupid. Jumping him at the first opportunity probably isn't the healthiest way to cross the threshold from best friends to a becoming new couple, but she knows no better way of solving a problem than meeting it head on. Or in this case, using her lips. No combination of words could possibly convey the flutter of her heart when she catches sight of him. The fire simmering in her tummy when he laughs, low and shyly, is dangerous and permanent.

What lures Maka back out to face the roaring winds is Soul's next text message: _r u stil coming over_?

She's coming, yes, she definitely plans to.

Arriving in record time, she hovers in front of his door, catching her breath. She must be incredibly noisy - or maybe he's been waiting by the door this whole time - because the door flies open.

“Hey - _ooohh_.”

That’s a good sign, isn’t it? Soul’s jaw slackens, mouth opening slightly. Drool emerges from the corner of his mouth, which he quickly wipes away with a flick of a finger.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hey,” he replies, raising an eyebrow and pointing with his chin to her legs. “Uhm, aren't you cold in those?”

She shrivels - not from the cold, but from his words. Reminding herself that he’s not the eloquent prince charming he pretends to be, she shimmies out of her peacoat, careful to do it while he gawks at her.

“Do you need help?”

Her throat is dry, unlike other parts of her body below her waist. She’s positive that she gives off an electrical shock when he helps slip off her coat, hanging it next to his unfashionable yellow jacket in the closet. Blood pounds in her head as he leads her to his bedroom, where they usually cuddle and marathon movies together, but this time the context is different. It’s business-like, yes, but she’s hopeful they’ll soon fall into the swing of things effortlessly.  

Once they’re snuggled in his bed, her heart beating so violently she’s afraid it will break her sternum, he says, “Are you sure you’re not cold? I have extra blankets.”

She wants to say “you can keep me warm,” but shakes her head and guides his arm around her shoulders.

Soul chooses not to comment on this as he starts the Pokemon episode they’d fallen asleep watching last weekend, and soon he’s snorting at the misadventures of Ash and the crew while she wonders why he couldn’t pick something sexier.

How long is an appropriate time to wait until Maka can scrape her teeth down his throat? She catches a wiff of his damp hair as he leans toward her, forearm against hers. Shyness must be preventing him from turning to face her so that their lips can connect. This is all sensory overload for her - his long sleeved shirt sits too well on him, and she's already mentally planning how to get him _out_ of it.

It's now or never. She takes an audible breath as she cups his face to guide his head in her direction. The last thing she sees before squeezing her eyelids shut is shock taking over his features. There is no time to process this information. She's too busy absorbing the warmth of his lips with hers, learning how to move against him while also caressing his cheek.

Multi-tasking is her specialty; she's a quick study. Before long Soul's the one struggling to keep up with her roaming, curious hands, fingers scraping through his hair and down his spine. He’s slow to react, shaky hands reaching to touch her cheek, lips grazing against hers with increasing fervor.

Everything must end, unfortunately, and soon they’re breaking apart and gasping for air.

Soul blinks. The tension is so thick they would need a chainsaw to cut through it. “Did you just kiss me?”

“ _NO!_ ” Maka shrieks, hyperventilating. “I was nodding off and my lips fell on yours.”

“BullIshit,” Soul insists, hoisting himself up on an elbow. Weird shadows from the laptop screen stretch across the bridge of his nose, coloring his white hair in ethereal mists of blues and reds.  “You threw yourself at me and kissed me on purpose. For like a full minute!”

She's light headed. “So what if maybe I did or not or spent hours planning it but it didn’t work because I lost my nerve and I couldn’t wait anymore and I just wanted to try? Can you really blame me?”

Soul stares. “ _What_? I didn’t follow.”

“You never listen.” Running away is an embarrassing possibility. Why is he so damn hard to read sometimes? Is he mad for the assault? Did she ruin their friendship? He's such an important part of her life that she can't remember a time when they weren't best friends, even if they've only known each other two years.

She doesn’t want to lose him.

“You _kissed_ me,” he echoes, disbelieving. “You touched me with your lips. Why would you do that?”

The perfect opportunity to jump out of the window slips away as he sits, squaring up with her, waiting for an answer.

“Uhm, well… You said in your text that you wanted to ‘Netflix and Chill’ and everyone knows that’s a booty call!”

He’s the one sputtering now: “What?! Is that what that means? I thought it just meant hanging out! Why would I ask you for a booty call?”

“I _know_ , I’m _sosososo_ sorry,” she cries, covering her face. When it’s dead silence, she peeks between her fingers at him when he admits he’s not mad. “What?”

“I said, I’m not mad… I’m kinda glad you misunderstood, I guess.” Rubbing the back of his head, he offers her a sheepish smile. “Kissing was fun. You’re so dumb, Maka - why wouldn’t I like kissing you? I’m in like with you, and stuff… I just would never ask you like that - that’s not cool. Do you think I’d do something like that?”

“Uhh, I like you too and I just got too excited!” she shouts, flailing wildly. It’s her defense mechanism to yell and thrash about, as if embarrassing herself in another light will ease the prior humiliation. “And - oh my god, you really did started kissing me back. You really like me back!”

He fidgets but maintains his snarky demeanor. “ _Duh,_ Maka.” Numb, she checks her pulse, just to make sure she’s still alive and not in heaven. She wants to burst into laughter, to wrap her legs around him, to fuse with him again - “I’ve never really kissed anyone before so… uh, how was it?”

“I’m not sure,” Maka lies, playing with the hem of her skirt nervously. She’s all too aware of Soul’s eyes never leaving her face. She’ll have to tease him about his dorkiness when she’s less flustered. “Let’s try again. You have to kiss me back harder.”

“Okay, but this time let's go slower,” he agrees, eager, leaning forward.

“Don’t count, pervert,” she chides, hoping that he won’t feel her heart thrashing around in her throat when they touch again. “Come closer.”

The bed sinks and sighs as he edges toward her, scooting in her direction. The bravery that had coursed through her veins earlier doesn’t fail her now. She allows him to do most of the moving, but she’s ambitious, stubborn, and a natural born leader, so it’s only natural that she takes the reigns. Climbing into his lap has been a longtime fantasy for her and one he’s glad to realize, if the way he snakes an arm around her waist to pull her closer is any indication.

Inexperienced hands wander about, teeth clash, but much like their first meeting, they click.

And just like their relationship, kissing is a tumult of banter and trying to get the upperhand.

Tangled in sheets and rolling around on his bed after he paused to set his laptop on the floor isn't exactly the leisurely pace Soul wanted, and he says so as she pins him down. Oh _no_ \- she’s pushed him too far again. Tucking a strand of hair behind her head, she spills apologies for her competitive streak, reddening. “I’m so sorr-”

“Got you!”

She shrieks happily as he rolls over on top of her, grinning.

“Still good?” he murmurs, kissing her lips, slow and careful.

“Mhmmm,” she moans into his mouth. “You’re.” Peck. “Really good.” Lip graze. “At this.” A bite.

She finally gets to feel his dimple as he plants butterfly kisses along the delicate skin of her neck. His husky voice rumbles in her chest in response to her excited yelp when he glides his hand along her thigh until he stops at her thigh highs.

“These were meant to be taken off, right?”

“Right,” she assures him, heart galloping.  


End file.
